


A Touch Too Far

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: Crowns and Hearts and Broken Things [3]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Masturbation, Sexual Frustration, Smut, Spring Fever, butterfly bog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring is as tangible in the night air as the heat that thrums through her blood. Left alone once again, a severely –ah- frustrated Marianne makes a discovery that there is no coming back from. PLEASE READ NOTE/EDIT AT THE START OF THE FANFIC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touch Too Far

**Author's Note:**

> My first smut fanfic. The world fears…
> 
> Takes place early on in the same AU as "So Shatters Crowns and Hearts."
> 
> EDIT (12/13/2015): This has been bugging me a bit, so I wanted to make an announcement. While this fanfic is part of the Crowns and Hearts and Broken Things AU and takes place in the midst of the events for "Between the Shadow and the Soul", it was actually written *BEFORE* I officially started "Between the Shadow and the Soul". That explains why there are no direct references to certain key events that have happened in BtSatS in here, and also why the tone of Marianne's thoughts regarding Bog is the way it is. It's hard for me to read this fanfic and not think “I would do this *so* differently now.” 
> 
> In this fanfic, Marianne’s thoughts and perceptions are just so *different* from what I know they would be now having actually started BtSatS. In ATTF, she acts as though Bog is still more of an close acquaintance instead of the friends they’re truly becoming in BtSatS. Though perhaps I’m being too critical of myself and this can played off as Marianne desperately trying to downplay just profoundly Bog has gotten to her…
> 
> So, I'm writing this because I was worried about new readers getting mixed signals. So just to be clear, ATTF was written before BtSatS, even though technically it takes place in the midst of the timeline. It still is canon to this AU, but I just wanted to explain the discrepancies readers may find, with both Marianne *and* with Bog (for example, he wouldn't have figured out his feelings for her yet at this point in BtSatS.) 
> 
> I hope this clears up any questions or musings!

The evening was warm and misty, the dampness of the twilight giving a potency to the burgeoning warmth of Spring that was coming to the land, twisting into once chilled earth like roots, warming everything. The feel of lushness and the perfume of slow blooming buds hung in the air, intoxicating the senses.  _Sultry_ …the perfect word to describe this night. 

Marianne groaned and went back to changing out of her clothes, her movements sharp and agitated, her face a thundercloud. Of all the nights, her body had decided on this one, Nature itself conspiring against her…

She muttered to herself as she tugged on her nightgown in the Royal Chambers, Roland once more off on a patrol, though she was cynically sure that he had delayed his return home to visit a few flings. But…she blessedly alone. Not an unfamiliar thing, seeing as they hadn’t shared a bed for more than a year…even if that little fact, though it made her grit her teeth to admit it, might have something to do with her current situation.

The airy white cloth of her nightgown clung to her body before falling in soft folds to her calves, her arms, chest and back bare to the warm evening. It was hardly what one would call  _decent_ for a Queen to wear, but Marianne hated being overheated while sleeping and after the long Winter, she wanted to some fresh air on her skin, even if it was sending her senses into overstimulation. The little slip seemed so wonderfully soft, so new in how silken it felt against her heated flesh, cool and sensual, and she unthinkingly let her hands trail from her neck to her collar to where the warmth of flesh changed into the slippery material that was slowly but surely picking up the heat from her body, and her fingertips trailed lightly, oh so lightly, over her breasts –

She snatched her hands away and scowled unhappily, scolding herself.  _You stop that – you’re not some teenager, you’re the Queen, this isn’t your First Spring…_

Marianne groaned once more, her head hanging, the thrum of the evening and her blood in her ears as she made her way to her empty bed. She flopped down onto it, once again thankful that the Kings and Queens of the Fairy Kingdom merited an actual bed with a frame, and not a simple flower to rest on. Although, she still remembered her old bed fondly…for one thing, there had never been the chance that she might have to share it with Roland.

One point in Roland’s favor, he had never tried to force her to bed, never tried anything that went beyond kisses for the public,  _c’mon Buttercup, they’ll love it,_ dipping her dramatic and deep as people cheered and she yearned to belt him across the face. She was torn between desperately thankfulness and horrible humiliation that he was so utterly uninterested in her in anyways that didn’t have to do with the crown.  _You’re not worth any attention…._

Marianne stared up at the ceiling and sighed unhappily, and the unhappy little twist her heart gave at that thought made her already over-stimulated senses ache all the more fiercely, and she bit her lip.

It wasn’t like she had never gotten… _frustrated_  before. Hell, what with how she had refused to take Roland into her bed, despite the public clamoring for a royal baby, it was simply a thing that was going to happen. It wasn’t the fact that she had a libido that she was thrown off by, it was…god, she didn’t even know. She was tired, emotional, overwhelmed by the stresses of the day, and in such a state of thwarted lust she was about to go around the twist from it, though heaven knows what had sent her nerves into  _such_  an achingly sensitive and hungry burn –

_\- She had unthinkingly crossed her legs under the table, too casual for a Queen, too casual for a meeting between councilors and visitors, and her calf had brushed against his, and the rough, spiky texture felt even through her gown, and her skin had been flooded with prickles of heat and her mind had blanked when she had heard his quick, almost silent inhale – oh god, did he think she did it on **purpose?**  - and she couldn’t help, she had looked at him, and even for the brief moment that their eyes met, the look in his eyes  - shock and  **something** , something there that neither of them had expected – had her quickly looking away, setting her jaw and staring determinedly down the table where the council members continued to squabble amongst themselves, a blush hot on her face and oh god,  **oh god,** why had she thought sitting so near him was a good idea –_

\- but whatever it was, it had awakened that burning, pulsing deliciously frustrating itch that she both loved and hated. Maybe…maybe tonight she could…

As she continued to bite her lip and war with herself, her hand seemed to move of its own accord, traveling a soft, slow path across her abdomen, across her hip, nearer and nearer and nearer to that one place that was desperate for attention, had been denied far too long –

Marianne quickly folded her arms, groaning again and shifting on the bed. No, she shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t, knew she shouldn’t even  _know_ about it – Queens didn’t do that, any respectable Fairy girl shouldn’t do that, numerous nursemaids had told her when she had asked curious questions, their mouths as prim as prunes and their eyes quietly scandalized, but…

But she would be damned if sank as low as Roland and took another person to bed for a quick and dirty release. She didn’t care how bad it got, she would not be like him, she could handle this, she could…take matters into her own hands.

As it were.

Marianne felt her heart race as she unfolded her arms and slowly, ever so slowly, pressed her palms flat against her neck before letting them travel, trailing and tentative, down to her chest, where she gently let her hands linger, her breasts tingling – they had always been sensitive - peaking against her touch, hesitant as it was, and  _oh,_  it felt so  _good_ , and her head fell back on the bed, a tremulous sigh escaping her as one hand mindlessly stroked and petted and teased while the other continued its downward journey to her groin, and  _oh,_  she felt her core give a tremor, it had been too long, she was  _so_  ready for it –

The murmur of voices outside the door, guards changing their posts - Roland had insisted on having more when the goblins were here – shocked her out of her building bliss and stilled her fingers and it was like cold water had been thrown on her.

_No._

She closed her eyes and panted, her need to breath dizzying her, and pulled both of her hands away determinedly, even as her body screamed at her. She had to be strong, couldn’t…couldn’t take the chance, if anyone knew that she was so achingly lonely… it wasn’t right, not when there were visiting dignitaries at the Palace, goblins all around and the guards needlessly tense, she had to be alert, if they ran to her with an emergency and found her in the middle of… oh,  ** _god_**. She would try to sleep it off, just try…

Marianne gave a miserable little grunt, feeling extremely out of sorts. Sleep. Good luck with that at this point. Damn Spring and damn how everyone in this Kingdom reacted to it. At least the visiting goblins seemed insensible to the weather change –

-  _His eyes, meeting hers across the table, his quick inhale at the contact –_

Marianne exhaled harshly and determinedly closed her eyes. Sleep.  _Now._

* * *

 

After about an hour of restless turning and wriggling and feeling her blood thrum in her ears and pound throughout her body  - ugh, her sheets were all  _twisted_  around her - Marianne gave a cross between an exasperated groan and a snarl, wadding up her blankets and tossing them away from her, utterly fed up - screw it,  _screw it_ , she  _needed_  this, needed it  _now_  –

She lay back, getting comfortable, and she let her hands be languid, exploring, stroking even while her body was burning and writhing softly beneath her own caresses. She knew she had to take her time, had to work up to it, make it last, because if she went too quick there would be nothing to sate her and she did  _not_  want to be back here in the same fix a week from now. Her hand dipped down the front of the nightgown and when she let her nails scrape over the soft and supple mound of one breast, tracing deft little patterns, she sighed, low and thready and needy.

She felt a stabbing pulse of heat between her legs as her hands abandoned her breasts in favor of sliding down her front, her center pulsing and burning and in such a state the first simple, clumsy little brush of her fingers, hesitant from not doing this in so long, sent a sweet pulse of molten pleasure thudding through her, making her gasp, embarrassingly loud in the empty room. She bit her lip, trying to hold in her quickly growing moan as she let her fingers delve more into the hot, aching heat there, her breath hitching when she found that sensitive little nub, and oh  ** _god_** ,  _she was doing this…_

She drowned in the sensation, imaging faceless lover’s hands instead of her own, trying to keep herself quiet in case any guards were patrolling outside, but she was gasping, her breath catching as she rubbed hard little circles on that sweet spot, pressing her palms down, letting her head sink back, her hips rocking against her own touch, and  _oh_ , it had been  _too long_ , it felt  _so_ _good_ , she wanted  _more_  –

A rough fingernail dragged against her skin, and she hissed, not from pain – the slight sting of it pushed her further, and she felt a happy confusion, she had never thought that roughness or sharpness down there could feel so  _good._

It was by pure happenstance that she dazedly looked over at her vanity table, chest steadily heaving, and her eyes fell upon a bundle of documents laying there, old papers and texts that she had been given at today’s meeting. There, right at the edge, was the map of the Dark Forest she had asked Bog for, so that she could learn the lay of the lands outside of her own Kingdom.

Wondering hazily when she had gone from thinking of him as  _The Bog King_ to  _Bog King_  to simply  _Bog_ , Marianne licked her lips and drew in a ragged breath and for some reason, thought back on that one moment of the meeting when her leg had accidently brushed against his, and before she could stop herself from thinking it -

_I wonder what his hands would feel like?_

Marianne froze, her fingers stilled, her eyes widening.

Why would that be of any interest to her? She relaxed a bit, and continued her stroking, letting her fingers tease along a sensitive edge. His hands, clawed and long fingered and so much larger than her own…they would probably feel like the rest of him, if the rest of him felt anything like what the brief little brush of his leg against hers had felt like, intriguingly rough even through her dress, never mind the sudden and overwhelming desire to rub a bared leg up along his just to test –

_Imagine his hands doing this to you._

Marianne did not freeze at that, but bolted upright, her hands clutching the sheets, her heart racing even as her ache intensified, a needy thud in her lower half.

That was – how could she even – okay, there was having some slight fascination over how Bog’s exoskeleton felt and then there was  _So Wildly Inappropriate, Marianne, How Can You Even **Think**  About That?!_

She shouldn’t…how could she even begin to…about Bog, of all people! A Goblin, the ruler of the Dark Forest, the same Kingdom that had years of wars and prejudices and bitterness with her own Kingdom, only just healing somewhat through her efforts.  

Bog, fierce and dangerous and caustic and so frankly  _irritating_  at times, who had no use for fairies until she had sent that invitation, going against Roland’s wishes and oh god, she had been so shocked when he had actually shown up unannounced, challenging her on the sincerity to her claims of desiring peace between the realms, testing the truth in her wishes of bridging the gap between the two Kingdoms… _Bog,_ of all people!

Marianne gasped helplessly, her nerves already in a heated, jumbled mess. Okay,  _yes,_  lately she had noticed – everyone had – that she was…drawn to Bog’s company. She liked him; she could admit that with no shame. He was grumpy and cynical and never suffered fools, but he was ferociously smart and once he had seen how eager and earnest she was to learn about his Kingdom, something her father had never been, he had taken the time to help her, teach her, meet with her in the Palace’s Library to talk. He listened to her, and it had been so long since anyone had done that.

And he could make her laugh, something that was becoming increasingly rare, and he could be surprisingly and endearingly shy, and she had reason to suspect that he was a huge dork, something that made her inexplicably delighted for reasons she couldn’t say. And if she could make him smile that little slant of a grin he got from time to time when they talked, making her heart twist in a way that was both wonderful and painful, well…

And if she was…watching him more, seeking out his company over others at the meetings, that meant nothing. What with Roland being gone so often and her being the sole representative of the Fairy Kingdom, she had to, really, it was important to maintain a good relationship with the Dark Forest and it’s ruler –

_\- Especially if the ruler has achingly blue eyes that make your knees weak –_

Marianne gulped, feeling something heavy settle in her stomach.  _Oh god…_

She leaned back slowly; trying to settle her breath, calm her decidedly racing heart. Okay…so…even though it was impossible, and she could hardly bare to admit it, she might be nursing a slight…harmless, very  _very_  harmless crush on Bog. Okay. It was…not  _ideal_ , but…she could deal with it. She  _could._

And if…if she happened to imagine what it would feel like, to have him…do  _that_  to her…

 _Oh god, this **can’t**  be happening._ Marianne groaned, her head sinking back. Of all the piss poor timing to realize she had a –  _tiny little harmless_  – crush. Burning with humiliation – and something else that was far more primal – she glanced down at her hands, still twisted in the sheets, and bit her lip.

Marianne knew she shouldn’t. She knew it, she _really_  did, knew that it would confuse her emotions and nerves even more, knew it was dangerous to go there, but what with her already hot and bothered state, she was already weak to letting desire rule.

Suddenly her touch seemed so… _soft,_  weak, not rough enough. Maybe…maybe it would be more satisfying if…if she only  _briefly_  imagined it, not for long, just for a bit. She was a big girl; it wasn’t like she was going to get confused between reality and some lusty, overheated imaginings. It would be harmless, just a little fantasy, nothing big…

Even as some part of her warned her against this, a much stronger told that part to shut the hell up and just enjoy it.

Her breath shallow, Marianne slowly laid back down on the bed, letting her hands creep back to the still achingly sensitive spot that was still begging to be touched, and closed her eyes, imagining…

Her fingers slowly trailed along the edge of her entrance, delving softly into the smooth and slippery heat…

_His claws dragging across the burning flesh, careful not to hurt her, his hand, so large and powerful, completely covering her when he pressed against her, his palm rough and warm and biting into her skin in a way that made her purr, before flexing those impossibly long, strong, dexterous fingers, feeling her, testing her, savoring her –_

Marianne was flooding with warmth and wetness, shivering with unbearable, exquisite pleasure as her fingers continued to tease, drawing out her fantasy, flicking and rubbing and –

_-  Stroking against her, the sharp texture of him sending a sweet thrill through her, and her chest rose and fell rapidly as she panted at his touch, biting at her lip in miserable ecstasy when he rubbed his palm hard against her, grinding it against her core, the gesture hungry and fierce but still intent on her pleasure, her need –_

Her hips arched helplessly, bucking against her hand, and oh god, “ _OH MY GOD!”_  –

_\- and she was moaning, moaning out a wild song of need as his thumb caressed that achingly hot and wildly sensitive spot, his claw scratching softly against it and OH -_

Her chest heaving and her teeth biting down on an increasingly delirious moan, Marianne thrust her hips uselessly and then made the fatal mistake of imagining what Bog would sound like groaning at that, his already rough voice thickened with desire _._

_No no no, just focus on the hands, focus on his hands, don’t think about anything else, keep it just on that -!_

But she couldn’t help it, and she squirmed as she continued to touch herself while desperately wondering what exactly it would sound like, hearing him while he did this to her - would his brogue thicken, would he growl low and heated in his throat, would he snarl, would he moan into her hair -?

The image of Bog burying his face in her hair, his expression taut with concentration and hunger, gasping for breath as he touched her in that way, feeling her and wanting her and pleasuring her, grinding out her name as she opened herself to him, hot and needy and wet and vulnerable, came unbidden to her –

\- And Marianne was lost.

She forgot any shame, any lingering fear of discovery as her mind was suddenly flooded by a thousand images and imagined sensations – Bog’s hands on her breasts, claws scraping against their tenderness, stroking at her core, all that hot and aching sensitivity, Bog shoving her and pinning her against the Library shelves, scales scratching against her, Bog’s teeth biting into her mouth in a desperately hungry kiss, at her lips, her neck, her breast, her hipbone, her –

Marianne shuddered helplessly, her fingers beginning to ache from her frantic speed, quickening in her need, her other hand going to her breast once more, biting her lip in a fevered state of lust, her eyes rolling back into her head and her teeth grinding and  _oh god_ , this was too much, this was going too far, she shouldn’t, she couldn’t, she shouldn’t be imagining him,  _here,_  ready to take her, grabbing her wrists and trapping her body with his, looming over her with that aching heat in his eyes, that same scorching look that she had only gotten a flash of at that meeting, her reaction scaring her with how fierce it had been, her sudden ravenous hunger, fangs and scales and claws and oh god, she wanted all of that, all of  _him_ , on her,  _in her_  –

Her climax crashed over her in a thundering wave, and she helplessly thrashed, her back arching, her lips bucking in a desperate search for something to rock into, her heart slamming against her breastbone as she keened out her rapture, loud and fierce and  _oh god,_ she was being too noisy and someone would surely hear but honestly, _fuck it._   

When the stars that had exploded behind her eyes had faded into little spinning blurs, Marianne stared up at the canopy of the bed, blinking dazedly and letting her body come down from the sheer intensity of that hot and blinding burst of pleasure and fade into a state of drowsy, sated, hazy bliss. She couldn’t stop a sleepy, slightly awed chuckle from escaping her. Holy  _hell,_  but that had been something else, exactly what she had needed, she had no idea that  -

**_You just got yourself off by thinking about Bog._ **

Marianne froze, her smile disappearing like frost thawing on a petal. She had…oh god,  _she had_ …the thought of him alone had… _His eyes, meeting hers across the table, his quick inhale at the contact –_

Closing her eyes, Marianne took several deep, calming breaths.

And then grabbed her pillow and screamed, loud and long, into it.

* * *

 

Bog cracked his neck and gritted his teeth, brooding in the hall while the sounds of chattering fairies wafted out of the ballroom and wishing, not for the first time, that fairies weren’t so bloody fond of whatever occasion allowed them to gather and imbibe in drinks and food, be it a meeting or a council or a ball. But his attendance at these wretched functions were necessary if he truly wished to forge a connection to the Fairy Kingdom…

_And to please their Queen…_

His shoulders slumped, and he let himself sink further into the shadowed corner he had claimed as his own, like the scaly beast he was. That was the heart of it, wasn’t it? He was becoming far less concerned with discussing how to do away with the old prejudices that had eaten away at both Kingdoms, and instead was consumed by a pathetic eagerness to see  _her_ …

It was completely ridiculous and he felt like a bloody fool, letting himself get so attached to the headstrong spitfire of a Fairy who had taken the crown at such a young age – much like he had – and so desperately wanted to change her Kingdom for the better, even with that twit of a King dragging her down. Gods, she deserved so much more than that smirking, empty-headed whelp…

_What, a hideous beast of the dreaded Dark Forest who’s apparently a lecher as well? Aye, she’d throw herself at the chance._

Bog scowled unhappily, even if he knew it was the ugly truth. Marianne had a King, she had her Kingdom, and he was lucky enough to have her seek out his company –

A wave of noise washed into the hall as the ballroom doors opened, and Bog rolled his eyes as he heard Thang give a dizzy laugh – too much Fairy Wine, the little sot, thank goodness Stuff was a professional – and glared over at the doors before feeling his heart skip a beat when he saw who had opened them and was now walking past, unaware of his presence. Without even thinking, Bog stumbled out of his corner and called out, already feeling his dark mood lift. 

“Mari – Er, Queen Marianne!”  _Damn him_ , he couldn’t do that, though he had no bloody idea when he had begun to drop the Queen part of her title when thinking about her…

She turned on her heel, the lights of the hall shimmering on her wings, her expression tired but determinedly pleasant, he knew all too well how parties wore at her. “Yes, can I help -?” She saw who it was and her voice immediately died, before she flushed a deep, splotchy red. “ _Oh,_  uh…Bo – um, Bog King. Hello…”

He paused on his way to her, faltering at her expression. “Ah…hello. Forgive me, is this a, uh, bad time?”

“No, no no no, I just, uh…” Marianne’s wings gave an anxious flutter, and Bog looked at her, curious. She was steadfastly avoiding his gaze, her cheeks looked redder than berries, and she was fidgeting, nervous. Why was she nervous? Floundering, Bog desperately tried to think of something to say.

“Um, was the map of any use to you? The one of the Dark Forest?”  _Oh yes, yes, that’s just bloody brilliant, very smooth, you git._

Marianne seemed distracted when she nodded, still looking away from him. “Yeah, yeah it really was, um…thank you for it, I can get it back to you soon –“

“There’s no rush,” Bog assured her, and he was starting to grasp at straws, not sure what was making her so –

_Oh bloody hells. That damned meeting._

Bog flushed as the realization flooded him, and oh gods, he was such a  _bloody fool!_  He had thought for one wild moment –  _hoped, more like_  – that that innocent little brush of her leg against his had been intentional, until the shock in her dark eyes – eyes he couldn’t help being fascinated by, warm and deep and beguiling as they were - told him differently. Oh hells, he knew they had both been embarrassed, but with her being married and the mere idea that someone like her would do such a thing to someone like him…gods, he was the worst kind of idiot!

Before he could stop himself Bog blurted out, “Sorry.” 

Marianne looked at him finally, her eyebrows scrunching together. “Uh…why?”

“I don’t know, just, um…” Bog scratched a hand at the back of his neck, not sure how to continue. “Just…the meeting. The one two days ago…? Just, uh…sorry.”

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the wrong thing to say, and Marianne’s face only seemed to grow steadily pinker and she looked away from him once more, biting her lip. “Uh…no worries. Don’t mention it.”  _Please don’t mention it._

Bog nodded, slow and unsure, taking in her uncomfortable posture, her miserable frown, feeling lost at what to do next. “Uh…alright. Are…is everything alright?”

Marianne looked up, her eyes wide, before looking off to the side once more. “Uh, yeah, just…I feel a bit tired, that’s all.”

Bog nodded. “Last night not satisfactory?”

Whatever reply Marianne had been about to give seemed to die a slow death on her lips as she gazed up at him, an inexplicably horrified glint in her eyes. “ _What?”_

“You…you, ah, didn’t sleep well?” Gods, but he was truly making a mess of this.     

“ _Oh!_  Oh, god, um…yes! I didn’t sleep well, and uh, yeah, and –“ Marianne looked around, her cheeks burning a hot and vivid pink, and she suddenly turned on her heel, rushing away. “Sorry, I promised Dawn I would – um, get something for her! Talk to you later!”

And with that she raced away from him, not even bothering to fly in her haste.

Bog stared after her and, not for the first time, wondered what he had gotten himself into with these new relations to the Fairy Kingdoms.


End file.
